“No one feels another’s grief, no one understands another’s joy. People imagine they can reach one another. In reality they only pass each other by.” –Franz Schubert

“Art is well made or poorly made…that is all.” –adapted from Oscar Wilde

(At Starved Rock, IL, my photo)

From boyhood I remember nothing more clearly than the sound of my grandmother playing music at the piano. Her favorite, perhaps the favorite of many grandmothers, was Beethoven’s Für Elise, but no one made it sound just like she did. The whole thing enchanted me. I would first open the upstairs bedroom door slightly so as to let the sound flow into my room. A bit later I would creep down the stairs, drawing closer, closer. Finally, I would sit by her side. Her fingers moved elegantly. It always baffled me that simple touches on white and black keys could produce such beauty. What sort of universe do we live in that the vibrations of air make people laugh, cry, remember? In music I find the beauty of God.